I want my sons to try things they might fail at. I want them to take chances, get knocked down, and get back up. And when they look over at me afterward, I want them to see that I'm proud they had the guts to try. Not disappointed that they failed.
There are going to be plenty of people in this world willing to criticize them, judge them, question their decisions, and tell them what they can't do. I don't need to be another one.
That doesn't mean I stop parenting. It doesn't mean I lower expectations, ignore bad decisions, or pretend everything they do is wonderful. It means I remember whose corner I'm in.
I can be their coach. I can challenge them. I can hold them accountable. But I should never become the guy standing across the ring trying to knock them down.
Every father wants to believe his son can come to him with anything. But believing you're approachable and actually being approachable are two different things. Your son knows the difference, even if you don't.
Sometimes You Just Need to Sit With Them
Recently, I was driving three teenage boys home from football practice when one of them brought up a sensitive issue involving sexual health. It wasn't a conversation most teenage boys would willingly have with an adult.
But there we were, driving down the road, talking about something that mattered.
For about 20 minutes, we talked openly. No lectures. No embarrassment. No making anyone feel stupid for asking a question.
Just a conversation.
When we finished, one of the boys said something that stuck with me. "I knew you would know what to do."
The interesting thing is, I don't always know what to do. He didn't know whether I had the answer. He knew he could ask the question. There's a difference.
I don't understand everything these boys are experiencing. Sometimes I have to learn right alongside them. But I can listen. I can ask questions. I can admit when I don't know something. And I can sit with them long enough to figure out what comes next.
We get so caught up in fixing things, teaching lessons, and preparing our boys for the world that we forget how important it is to simply be available.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the truck, without eye contact, without an agenda, and without anyone feeling like they're being interrogated. Sometimes they don't need a speech. They need us to shut up and listen.
We Slay Dragons
I've always liked the idea of fathers helping their sons slay dragons. Those dragons change as boys grow. Some are small. Some are enormous. And eventually, they'll face problems I can't solve for them. And that's okay.
My job isn't to slay every dragon. It's to help them believe they can face what's in front of them. Sometimes I'll step in. Sometimes I'll stand beside them. Sometimes I'll need to step back and let them figure it out. And sometimes we'll both be standing there wondering what the hell to do next.
I want them to see that, too. I want my sons to know that I struggle. That I get things wrong. That there are times I feel weak, uncertain, or completely out of my depth. I don't always know what the hell I'm doing. Why would I expect my sons to?
But there's another dragon we need to talk about. Sometimes the dragon isn't a bully, a bad decision, or something happening at school. Sometimes it's the father who can't control his frustration, can't admit he's wrong, or makes every mistake feel like a disappointment. And sometimes that father might be me.
I've caught myself listening to respond instead of listening to understand. I've caught myself wanting to win an argument with my own kid. What the hell am I trying to win?
If I recognize that I've stepped into the ring against my own son, I need to stop. Not after I've won the argument. Not after I've made my point. Right then.
Remember Whose Corner You're In
If I want my sons to come to me with the biggest problems in their lives, I need to pay attention to how I respond to the smallest ones.
When they fail, what do they see on my face? When they make a mistake, do I help them understand it, or make them regret telling me? Every time I make my son regret telling me the truth, I'm teaching him to think twice before telling me the next time. Eventually, he might stop telling me altogether.
And when they tell me I'm being unfair, too harsh, or simply wrong, am I willing to listen? I won't always get those moments right. But I can recognize when I'm getting them wrong. I can apologize. I can do better the next time.
I don't need my sons to think I'm invincible. I don't need them to believe I have all the answers. I want them to know I'm willing to stand beside them, even when neither of us knows what comes next.
There will be enough dragons in their lives. I don't need to become one of them.
The question isn't whether I believe I'm in their corner. It's whether they know it.
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What hit you?
What did you recognize, disagree with, or see differently after reading this?
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